


Arrested Development

by CatHeights, Maverick



Series: MavCat Productions [3]
Category: Law & Order: SVU, Oz (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 11:08:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2386136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatHeights/pseuds/CatHeights, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maverick/pseuds/Maverick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story idea came about from the SVU episode, “Redemption.” We decided to see how things would play out if you replaced the character of Hawk with Tobias Beecher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arrested Development

**Author's Note:**

> As this is an SVU-based story, the subject matter is rather dark at times, just as it is on the show.
> 
> Disclaimer: Oz and Tobias Beecher belong to Tom Fontana and HBO. Elliot and the SVU gang, as well as any episodes we refer to (Redemption, Execution), belong to Wolf Films. We’re just playing that fabulously captivating game of what if it happened this way. It’s all for fun, no profit to be made, and we promise to return all the characters to their respective shows when we’re done torturing them.

The clink of the bottle slipping from his hand was a welcome disturbance. The sound broke the oppressive silence that had been seeping into his skin. Elliot watched as the bottle rolled down the table, dripping beer along the way. Only a few droplets marred the mottled-brown surface, as he had pretty much drained the bottle dry. Actually, he had managed to knock off a six-pack far too quickly. He had to have more in the fridge because he wasn't nearly drunk enough. Not even close as he could still remember everything. 

Elliot reached out and stopped the bottle before it could fall off the table. He wrapped his fingers around the neck, and beer ran down the back of his hand. He didn't bother to wipe it off. Instead, he rolled the neck back and forth along his bottom lip. His hands tightened around the bottle, and he closed his eyes, swallowing hard as he did so. 

All day her fearful, trusting eyes had haunted him. He had lied to her, told her she couldn't be hurt anymore. And then some goddamn jury had sent her back to the bastard who had molested her. Where did they think she had gotten gonorrhea from if it hadn't been from her grandfather? He had tested positive for it. Could it have been anymore obvious? The whole system was a screwed up load of crap. 

There was nothing he could do. No way he could protect her. Tonight, Leslie Bellow was back with her grandfather. She was back living her nightmare with only a white teddy bear in a purple dress to offer her comfort. She was there with only a stuffed toy to hear her sobs. 

Goddamn it! Where was there any justice? 

Elliot stood, kicked the chair out of his way and flung the bottle. It hit the kitchen floor and shattered. Breathing heavily, he stared at the glass that now littered the floor. The kitchen's tiles were a dingy brown, and it was hard to see each bit of glass. It sort of blended in. Nothing clean and airy about this kitchen, not like the one in his house. He corrected himself - it wasn't his house anymore. It belonged to Kathy and the kids now. He was just an occasional visitor. 

As he rested his hand on the table, Elliot sighed. What a mess. He should clean it up. After all, this wasn't his place either. Nothing was his anymore. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Elliot Stabler wasn't supposed to be living alone, basically a squatter in a friend's apartment. He was supposed to be a family man and a good cop. Instead, he was newly divorced with four kids who seemed to think that he was solely to blame for wrecking their family life. And the worst part was he believed they were right. It was his fault. It had to be. He had fucked up his marriage. 

In the battle between his private life and his career, his career had proved the victor, and it was a hollow ironical victory. His career, now entirely his life, was an empty waste of time, a battle lost before it had begun. There was no justice out there, so you couldn't win. He had thrown everything away for nothing. He couldn't save them. Elliot Stabler couldn't save anyone or anything, not even himself. 

He pushed away from the table, spun around, and slammed his fist into the adjacent wall. The round clock on the wall slid slightly to the left. Elliot slammed his fist into the wall again, and the clock jumped back into place. Breathing heavily, he leaned his head against the wall. He cradled his fist against his chest, trying to focus his mind on the stinging heat that was spreading through his clenched hand. Elliot willed the pain to crush the image that was crashing through his mind, but it couldn't be done. 

The image came of a young girl lying on the grass under a tree. Her long brown hair was neatly combed. Her sweet little hands were folded primly on her chest, so pale against the dark blue dress with the light blue flowers that she wore. It seemed such a beautiful picture of innocence, until you saw the bruising around the neck, and realized the child's chest never rose to take a breath of air. 

Elliot unclenched his fists and pressed both palms hard against the wall. Would they get the bastard this time? Or would another one slip away, lost to a technicality or to a jury that was blind? Somehow the system had failed Melissa Dougherty, or he wouldn't have had to inform her parents that she had been found dead in Central Park today, apparently dressed in clothing she didn't even own. 

He had seen worse things, worse murder scenes, and yet somehow the one today had hit him harder than any of the others. She had been lying there so neat, so pristine, and there had been something obscene about that. As if the murderer thought he could clean away his guilt by leaving her that way. He had thought that his day couldn't get worse after the verdict in the Leslie Bellow case, but he had been wrong, so very wrong. 

With a heavy sigh, Elliot slowly moved back from the wall. He turned around and kicked a piece of glass out of the way. Shaking his head, he ignored the mess on the floor and headed to the fridge. He needed another beer. He definitely wasn't drunk enough. Elliot wasn't sure if it was possible to ever be drunk enough, but tonight, he was willing to hope that it was. 

Dear God, please let me drink enough tonight to forget about everything, let me sleep like the dead. 

><><><><><><><><><><><><

Elliot dragged into work the next morning with a headache the size of Cleveland. He wasn't quite sure if the ache came from the hangover he was nursing or from the dread of spending his morning with the medical examiner going over the autopsy results for another dead child. The image of Melissa Dougherty lying still under that tree flashed through his head so vividly that he feared he might throw up from the pain. Of course the nausea could also be from the hangover, he thought as he rummaged through his desk for a bottle of aspirin. That was the problem with sleeping like the dead, it was always that much harder to face the living the next day. 

Popping the top of the aspirin bottle with his teeth, Elliot palmed three pills and swallowed them dry. He couldn't miss the look of concern on Olivia's face as he chucked the pill bottle back into drawer and slammed it shut. Giving Liv his best "I don't want to discuss it" look, Elliot picked up the case file and looked over the crime photos once more. He wasn't surprised to find that the pictures in the file matched those going through his head. Closing the file with a whoosh, Elliot looked over at Olivia. 

"Did Munch and Fin have any luck with the canvas of the area?" he asked. He could tell that Olivia wanted to talk about what was bothering him, but there wasn't anything he wanted to discuss. 

"Not really. They should be back shortly. They went to talk to an old informant of Fin's. Heroin addict, I think. Fin said if the weather's decent, he can usually find him sleeping in the park," Olivia said. Her gaze implored Elliot to let her know what was going on. "Fin doubts the guy will give him any specifics, but he can at least show him the easiest way to access that area of the park without being seen." 

"Great," Elliot said a little louder than was necessary as he stood abruptly and walked to the coffee maker. "Junkie informants are always so reliable." 

"Maybe we'll be able to track the killer's movements with his help." 

Elliot shook his head and shot Olivia a bitter smile. "Come on Liv, you can't still be that naïve after working in this hell hole for three years. This psycho's going to kill another little girl, and there's nothing we can do about it." 

"At least I'm trying to do something about it Elliot. I don't see how that makes me naïve. I think it means I'm doing my job. Why don't you lose the attitude and do the same." 

Elliot was about to reply when he watched a face from the past walk into the squad room and head for the Captain's office. That can't be him, he thought as he watched Captain Cragen shake hands with the man. Then he heard the laugh, a manic chuckle that always made him a little uncomfortable, and he knew it had to be him. It had to be Tobias Beecher. Elliot took a better look. Yep, he thought, same reddish blond hair, same pug nose. His body seems leaner though, more toned than before. He must be off the sauce. Elliot had heard that Beecher had had a bit of a meltdown a few years earlier, but he hadn't seen him since - since Dave's funeral, 8 years earlier. 

"Who's that with the Captain?" Munch asked bringing Elliot out of his head. 

He had been watching the Captain and Beecher so intently that he hadn't even noticed that Munch and Fin had returned. "You turn up anything?" Elliot asked, already knowing the answer was going to be no. 

"No, we searched the two most direct routes from Fifth Ave. to that tree, but we didn't turn up nothing," Fin said. "You'd think someone would've noticed something." 

Munch laughed. "You forget we're in New York City, Fin. Nobody ever sees anything in the Big Apple," he said. 

Olivia observed that Elliot was still watching the Captain and the man he was talking to. "Elliot do you know who that is?" she asked. 

Elliot nodded his head yes as he watched Beecher walk into the Captain's office. 

"Stabler, come here please," Captain Cragen called to Elliot. 

Elliot pushed up his shirtsleeves and headed toward Cragen's door. When he was just outside it, he realized that he hadn't answered Olivia and Munch's question. "Yeah I know him. Tobias Beecher, the department's own Don Quixote," he called over his shoulder. He had a feeling he was probably going to wish he had actually managed to grab himself a cup of coffee. 

><><><><><><><><><><><><

As Elliot brushed into the room, Captain Don Cragen couldn't miss the scowl firmly embedded on his detective's face. Deciding it was not the time or the place to call Stabler on his surly attitude, he concentrated on the task at hand. "Detective Elliot Stabler meet Sergeant Tobias Beecher." 

Elliot's shake of Toby's outstretched hand seemed nothing more than a reflex, as his demeanor was anything but hospitable. "We've already met Captain," he said. The coldness in his tone matched the bitterness of his eyes. 

With a small sniff, Toby widened his stance, crossed his arms at his chest and met Elliot's hard gaze with one of his own that clearly stated it would take more than a scowl to scare him away. After a moment, he turned his attention back to Cragen and smiled. "Yes sir, Stabler here was coming into SVU as I was leaving. When was that like 9 years ago?" 

Elliot crossed his arms and mimicked Toby's stance. "Yep, 1993," he said flippantly. 

Cragen looked from one man to the other and couldn't help thinking that they had squared off at 20 paces like some old western showdown. Motioning both men to the chairs in front of his desk, he sat down and waited for them to follow suit. Toby sat down right away, but it took a stern look from Cragen before Elliot took his seat. "Well good, as you two already know each other, it will make it that much easier," Cragen said, suddenly believing that there was going to be nothing easy about the situation 

"What easier?" Stabler asked from his slumped position in his chair. His legs were stretched out in front of him and his arms were crossed tight against his chest. It was obvious that he was doing his best to ignore the man sitting next to him. 

With another stern look directed at Elliot, Cragen explained, "The Sergeant here has been temporally reassigned to SVU from Major Crimes, specifically to work on the Dougherty case." Having worked with Elliot for over three years, he had had a pretty good idea of how the other man would react, so Cragen wasn't surprised when Stabler flew out of his chair and loomed over Beecher. 

He noticed that Stabler was opening and closing his fists and that a look of pure rage had hardened the detective's haggard face. If looks could kill, Cragen was sure that the anger rippling off of Elliot in waves would have killed Beecher. "Detective Stabler," Cragen said trying to diffuse the situation with an authoritative tone. 

Cragen's voice must have broken through to Elliot because after one more outraged scowl directed at Beecher, he turned to Cragen. "My case?" he asked incredulously. "You're giving him, *my case*?" 

Before Cragen could respond, Toby cleared his throat drawing Elliot's attention back to him. "You're still the primary," Toby offered like a consolation prize. "I'll just be working the case with you." 

Because he had never met a more dedicated detective than Stabler, Cragen knew he sometimes cut the other man a little too much slack. He was beginning to think that this might be one of those times, but he couldn't blame Elliot for being outraged. He knew that if some detective from another squad had come in and tried to usurp a case he had been working, he would have been mighty angry. He figured the best way to proceed was to let the two men work it out themselves. Not that he was about to leave them alone in the room together. Not with the way they were looking at each other. He would closely monitor the situation and act accordingly. 

Elliot leaned up against Cragen's desk and met Toby's eyes once more. "Major Crimes lost its luster for you. You feel the need to get your hands dirty again, is that it?" 

Standing and walking to within inches of Elliot, Toby let out a manic cackle. "Actually, I thought it might be fun to come over here and bust your balls. And so far, I was right." 

"You." Elliot growled as he raised his hands, which were now tightly fisted. 

Cragen was out of his seat and around the desk before Elliot could do or say any more. He stood between the two men and said forcefully, "Elliot." He placed his hand on his detective's shoulder, which made Elliot instinctively drop his arms to his side. 

Elliot walked back to the far wall, and Cragen could see that he was struggling to swallow and cork his anger. He gave Elliot a look that implored him not to do anything he would regret later. "The Sergeant thinks Melissa Dougherty was killed by a serial killer he's been tracking," Cragen said. 

Leaning back against the wall, Elliot shot Toby a sardonic smile. "Oh really, I wasn't aware that the Major Case Squad had taken over profiling serial killers. I must have missed that memo," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "What notorious killer are you tracking these days, Sergeant?" Elliot asked. 

Toby looked the other man straight in the eye. "The Sunday Dress Strangler," he said without hesitation. 

"Still tilting at windmills there Beecher. If I'm not mistaken, that case is closed. I seem to remember you getting a promotion out of it," Elliot said maliciously. 

Cragen remained silent as the two men glared at each other, waiting for the other to blink. He had heard rumors about this quest of Beecher's, but he wouldn't have thought that it was common knowledge. And then it came to him, why Elliot had been hostile from the moment he had walked in the door. Beecher had been Dave Rosetti's partner before Stabler. He had forgotten that these two men shared a bit of history. From what he had heard, Rosetti had despised Beecher. Great, just great, Cragen thought. As if things weren't hard enough, he was going to have to referee these two egos with major baggage. It was times like these that he almost wished he still drank. He looked to Elliot and then Toby, and waited for the next venomous volley to launch. 

The silence rang out for several more moments, and then Beecher broke. "Randy Burton was innocent," he said deciding to plead his case instead of taking Elliot's bait. "I made a mistake." 

"A mistake?" Elliot asked suspiciously. 

"Yes, Detective Stabler. I. Made. A. Mistake," Toby said. 

Smiling coldly, Elliot nodded his head. "Quite a mistake then. Burton died in prison, didn't he?" 

Cragen watched as Toby looked down, almost as if he was in pain. 

Taking a deep breath, Toby looked directly at Elliot. "Yeah, he did," he said. 

Sitting on the edge of his desk, Cragen's gaze moved from Toby to Elliot. Even though he had just met Beecher, he could see such similarities between the two men. Both had this need to protect and serve, and both were driven by a desire to right whatever wrongs they could. He doubted, though, that either one of them would see it that way. Deciding that getting back to the business at hand was the way to go, he motioned for the men to sit down in the chairs once more. When both were settled, he sat at his desk. "Sergeant Beecher believes he has sufficient evidence to indicate that Burton wasn't the Sunday Dress Strangler." 

Elliot pursed his lips in a tight smile that showcased his disdain. "I'm sure he does, but the case is closed." 

With another little manic chuckle, Toby turned to Elliot. "Believe me, I'm well aware that the case is closed. So let's take Randy out of the equation for a moment." 

"What?" Elliot asked obviously surprised by Toby's tactic. 

"Say I'm wrong and Randy Burton did kill Mary Beth Warren. There were two other murders that happened that summer. Two other little girls whose deaths remain unsolved." 

Elliot focused his attention on Toby seeming to forget that Cragen was still in the room. "Burton was the prime suspect in those cases as well," Elliot said. "The physical evidence wasn't conclusive enough to indict, so the DA went with the case he could make. It sucks, but it's a compromise that happens every day." 

Nodding his head in agreement, Toby ran his fingers through his hair. "True, but answer me this: why wasn't the physical evidence there?" 

"That's simple, he became a smarter more efficient killer as he went along. We see that everyday too," Elliot argued back. 

Toby chuckled and shook his head. "I know you never met Randy, but take my word for it, he wasn't capable of what you are suggesting." 

"Because you say so," Elliot said gruffly as he stood and walked to the wall once more. He folded his arms across his chest and then turned to hear the rest of Toby's argument. 

Cragen started to look severely at Stabler but changed his mind. He decided that the added distance between Stabler and Beecher was probably a good thing. He focused his attention back on Beecher. 

"No, because he had an IQ in the low 90's," Beecher bit back just as gruffly at Elliot. "He wasn't capable, so I'm just suggesting we need to consider the similarities between those two unsolved murders and this one." 

Watching the two detectives spar, Cragen decided that Beecher had missed his calling. The man should have been a lawyer instead of a cop. "So Sergeant Beecher, do you want to share these similarities you believe exist?" Cragen said, trying to move the conversation along. 

"The victim you found yesterday was wearing a long, dark blue dress, with light blue flowers on it that her parents had never seen," Beecher said still addressing his arguments to Elliot. 

Pushing off the wall, Elliot waved his hand in an "I don't buy it" motion. "That was well documented. Could be a copycat. Or was that what you meant, the similarities point to a copycat?" His tone held the first stirrings of genuine interest. 

That crazy manic chuckle rang out again. Flashing his teeth, Toby explained, "Oh no, there's no copy cat. I put the wrong guy away and left the real bastard out there, and he's striking again." 

Elliot pushed up his shirtsleeves once more. "Prove it," he said. 

"First off, your Captain can verify that I have not yet looked at your case file, but let me tell you what you encountered yesterday," he said. 

Captain Cragen nodded in agreement with Beecher. "He hasn't seen any of the files." 

Elliot shook his head ok. 

Taking that as the opening he needed, Toby recited the evidence like he had been in the park the day before. "When they found her, she was lying under a tree. At first glance, she could have been resting, her hands folded across her chest and those goddamn blue star-like flowers clutched in her hands. Except for the bruising around her neck, there were no marks on her body, no un-accounted for scrapes, not even a smudge of dirt." 

Cragen watched Elliot turn visibly pale. He was worried for a moment that the detective would pass out or throw up. He motioned for Stabler to take a seat. 

Elliot chose to continue standing, anchoring himself to the wall behind him. After a minute of silence, he met Toby's eyes. "And that proves absolutely nothing." 

Toby just shook his head at Elliot's obstinacy. 

Cragen put his hand on the back of his bald head. "I don't know about that Elliot. It sounds like it could be the same guy." 

Grabbing hold of Cragen's acquiescence like a lifeline, Toby said, "It is. This is no copycat." 

"Well Sergeant, I'm willing to investigate that possibility," Cragen said rising from his seat. "Why don't you go out into the squad room and introduce yourself around. I want to have a word with Detective Stabler before you both head off to the M.E.'s." 

Elliot waited until Toby had closed the door before he looked at Cragen like a petulant child. "Capt." he started before Cragen cut him off. 

"Sit, shut up and listen to me," Cragen said harshly. 

Elliot did what Cragen asked. 

"I know you don't like the guy, and I have a good idea as to why, but you can't let your personal history get in the way of this case," Cragen said in tone devoid of the earlier hostility. 

"But Captain. He left SVU because he couldn't deal with it. And now he wants back in, it doesn't work that way," Elliot said. 

"For guys like you and me Elliot, no, it doesn't work that way. But for guys like Beecher, guys with clout and connections, it often does. This is one of those times," Cragen said. 

Unable to stay seated, Elliot got up and walked to the wall. "So I should just grin and bear it? That's what you're telling me?" he asked rubbing his fingers in circles against his temples. 

Cragen rose and walked over to where Elliot was standing. He placed his hand on his detective's shoulder in solidarity. "What I'm telling you Elliot, is this. Don't throw fifteen years of service and your *career* away, over this," Cragen said. "Plus, I'm beginning to wonder if maybe Beecher is right. There are just too many similarities between the cases." 

"Beecher is nuts," Elliot said as he walked to the door. 

Cragen cracked a small smile. "He might be, Detective, but you still have to work with him. Don't make me take you down over this. Understood." 

Elliot nodded as he exited the office. 

"Stabler?" Cragen said, wanting confirmation that Elliot had gotten the point. 

"Understood Captain," Elliot said as he walked away. 

><><><><><><><><><><><><

**Chapter 2**

_Come on Stabler, stop arguing with your Captain and get the hell out here_ , Toby thought as he tapped his foot lightly against Elliot's desk. He was sitting on the desk's edge, waiting impatiently and shooting the occasional smile at Olivia. So far she had pointedly ignored each of his smiles, which greatly amused him. She had spunk. He liked 'em spunky. Woman, man, it didn't matter to him as long as they had enough spunk to last the evening with his sarcasm. An evening, maybe a week or so, was all he asked. His relationships never lasted longer than that. Toby had yet to meet anyone who was worth all that effort, or if they seemed to be worth the effort, they were never able to understand his motivations. Shit, he couldn't understand them himself. 

He eyed Olivia again. Now, she might understand, and even if she didn't, he bet it'd be one hell of a night. Oh, who was he kidding? He didn't stand a chance with Detective Benson. What was he going to do? Charm her into forgetting that he was the guy who had just insinuated himself into her partner's case? Right. 

Beecher let out his trademark manic chuckle, and Olivia jumped slightly at the sound. She gave him a startled glance. He smiled back, widely, chuckling again when she glared at him. _Ah, show me how you really feel, honey._ Toby knew she was just waiting to get the low down from Elliot, and then she'd fully pull the gloves off. Olivia would have her partner's back. Good partners watched out for each other, and Benson was a good one. He could tell. He might not have always been the best partner himself, but he had no problem recognizing the trait in another. It was one of the many things Dave Rosetti had taught him. 

Toby's grin faded, as his mind wandered into territory he had been hoping to avoid - Dave. Rosetti had been one hell of a partner. If he had heard the rumors that Beecher had only made detective because of his family's influence, he had ignored them, willing to give his young partner a fair shake. That had meant a hell of a lot to Toby. All he had ever asked for was a chance. Well Rosetti had given him that and more. He had taken Beecher under his wing and given him the opportunity to learn from one of the best detectives on the force. You couldn't get luckier than that. In return, what had he done? He had made a mockery of that gift. 

The desk's edge sliced into his palms as his grip tightened enough to make his wrists hurt. Toby struggled to breathe past the ache lodged in his chest. Over the years, he had been trying to move past all his regrets, but sometimes they came back to haunt him like a bit of buried shrapnel. Some regrets never stopped slicing away at you, like the ones he had when it came to Dave. All he had really wanted was Dave's respect, to be a partner who could be depended on. He should have been able to accomplish that, but he had failed miserably. He had let Dave down both as his partner and as a friend. 

His breath hitched, and he smothered the sob that was trying to force its way out. He wasn't going to lose it here. Not today, not when he finally had the chance to try to make some things right. Yet, after all this time, he could still recall how Dave had sounded on his answering machine. The way his voice had been ragged, as if he hadn't slept for a long time, and that note of desperation that had been so unlike Dave.

_"Beecher." A long pause had followed, and then a sigh. "Damn it, Beecher. If you're there, pick up. I need to talk to you. It's important. Call me.please."_

And he had thought about calling Dave back, really. He had even picked up the phone, but then he had talked himself into hanging it up. Next thing he had known, he had been pouring himself a drink to help him think over what Dave might want. Four drinks later, and he had decided that all Dave wanted was to tell him about some other case he had fucked up. Several more drinks, and he was passed out and had forgotten all about Dave Rosetti. 

Three days after that call, Dave killed himself. Beecher had to wonder if he had returned Dave's call would the man still be alive. Of course that was assuming he would have been any help if they had talked. He doubted it. He would have failed Dave no matter what. Back then he had been good at that. 

Toby took a deep breath. That period of his life was over. It wasn't about failure anymore. Everything wasn't about him. Life didn't have some personal vendetta against Tobias Beecher. It just was, and he knew that now. So it was time to stop all this goddamn wallowing and focus. He tapped his fingers against his thighs. _Come on, Stabler. Get out here._

Laughter made him turn his head, and he realized Olivia was no longer at her desk. She had moved over to where Munch was seated. Toby's mouth twisted into a bitter grin. Here was another thing he remembered from the "old" days. Camaraderie. He recalled how it had felt to be part of a team. Sure, he was respected over at Major Cases and had a reputation for being brilliant, but no matter what, he was still Crazy Beecher. He was always the outsider, and he knew it would be no different here. 

Oh, they had all been polite when he had introduced himself. However, once he had told them why he was here that politeness had turned to coldness. He probably should have just stamped "interloper" on his forehead. It would have saved time. What did it matter? He didn't give a fuck what they thought, as long as they did their jobs. The only thing he needed them for was to help him find this bastard. 

Toby hopped down from the desk. Even though he knew very little time had passed, he was tired of waiting. He couldn't just sit here. With every minute they wasted, the chance the killer would get away increased. He wasn't willing to take that chance. They needed to leave, now. He started to head toward Cragen's office, but just as he did, the door opened, and Elliot emerged. 

Olivia stood and caught Elliot's glance. Their exchange was wordless, but both understood what was being said. Toby tried and failed to repress the twinge of jealousy he felt at witnessing their silent communication. 

Elliot stalked over to the desk, glared at Beecher and said, "Let's go." He headed out of the squad room without even bothering to see if Toby had followed. 

_I wonder if the car will be big enough to hold Stabler and his attitude_ , Toby thought as he hurried after Elliot and stepped into the elevator the other man had summoned. The short ride passed in silence, a state Toby always found uncomfortable. As soon as the elevator had stopped, and they had exited, he felt compelled to say something to Stabler. "Don't get all pissed at your captain. I had myself assigned to this case. He didn't really have a choice. And neither do you." 

"I don't, huh?" Elliot said. 

"Short of asking for a reassignment, no. And you aren't the type of man who would walk away from a case." 

That comment caused Elliot to stop walking. "We met briefly, a couple of times, nine or so years ago and have talked for five minutes now, and you're gonna tell me what kind of man I am," he said, scowling at Beecher. 

_Oh yes, I know exactly what type of man you are. The type I wanted to be_ , Toby thought, _a good partner, a respected detective, and a cop who cares_. He met Elliot's scowl with a smirk. "Yes, you've stuck with SVU, the department that chewed me up and spit me out in under two years, for almost a decade now. So that means you're either extremely dedicated to what you do, or you're a masochist." Toby's grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Either way, there is no way in hell you'd turn this case over to me." 

Toby's arms slid to his sides, his hands knotting into fists, as Stabler surprised him by stepping extremely close. Christ, the man had presence. The menace being directed at him was like a sharp gust of wind surrounding him with no escape. The man was so damn close that he could feel each angry breath that was expelled. 

"I'm still the primary. Get that straight," Elliot said, slowly drawing out each word. "You follow my lead, Sergeant." 

Dear god, what was wrong with him? His stomach felt oddly hollow, and he could feel his face flushing. The small amount of air that separated the two of them seemed to have grown incredibly warm. What the hell? Was he afraid of Elliot Stabler? No. He was intimately familiar with fear, and this wasn't it. 

He realized that Stabler was glaring at him, waiting for an answer. "I'm fine with that," Toby mumbled. Strangely, he found himself feeling both relieved and disappointed when Elliot stepped away. 

Once he was sure that his voice wouldn't give away his momentary feeling of discomfort, Beecher said, "And knock off the Sergeant bullshit. Toby or Beecher is fine." 

"Well you've earned those stripes. I wouldn't want to offend you by not respecting your rank," Elliot said in voice loaded with sarcasm. 

"Earned? Don't you mean bought? It's amazing what money and position can buy you these days, huh?" 

"I didn't mean to." 

Toby noticed that Elliot looked sincerely contrite, but he didn't give a damn. When he spoke, his tone was bitter. He lashed out each word, his gaze coldly ripping into Stabler. "That's exactly what you meant, but I don't give a shit what you think about me. You see the old Tobias, the one you knew years ago, now he would have made an issue over it. He would have bent over backwards to prove that he got where he was on merit, and merit alone. That Tobias let his ego send an innocent man to prison to die. That Tobias doesn't exist anymore." 

Elliot held out his hands in an apologetic gesture. "I'm sorry. I didn't." 

Once again, Beecher didn't give him a chance to finish. "Save it. As I said, I don't care what you think of me. What I do care about is solving this case, stopping this bastard and proving Burton's innocence." 

Toby pushed past Elliot and stepped outside. He shivered as the unseasonably cold air hit his body. The unforgiving sky above him was a solid sheet of gray. Beecher couldn't make out any individual clouds; it was just one looming dismal mass. There were no clouds, no wind, only the cold and a faded sky. The day was sterile, just like his life, just like everything he touched. 

Damn it! Now was not the time to indulge in melancholy bullshit. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it right this time. He just needed to keep his emotions from wandering all over the landscape. 

He realized that while he had been gazing at the sky, Stabler had already headed over to the garage and was signing out the car. Toby caught up with Elliot just as the man was walking to pick up their vehicle. 

"Where's our first stop?" Beecher asked, keeping his voice devoid of emotion. 

"Medical Examiner's," Stabler said as he unlocked the car. 

His stomach twisted, but he managed to push back the flood of memories that tried to assault him at the sound of those words. Of course that would be their first stop. It had been a stupid question. 

As both men got into the car, the sound of a cell phone ringing broke the silence. Elliot reached for his phone and flipped it open. Putting it to his ear, he said, "Stabler. Hey sweetie. What's up?" 

Toby watched in amazement as the dark look on Elliot's face instantly melted into a smile. Once again, he felt himself growing warm, but this time he recognized the feeling - attraction. Stunning, the man was absolutely stunning. An image flashed into his mind of Elliot's body covering his, their legs twined together, as he gazed up into that incredible smile. A flash of gold on Elliot's left hand brought him slamming back to reality. Stabler was happily married with kids. First Benson, now Stabler, he really did like impossible quests. Either that, or he really needed to get laid. 

"8:30? Yes, of course, I'll be there. No, it's not a problem. Ok. Ok, yes, I promise. I love you too, baby. Bye." Elliot put his phone away and started the car. 

As they exited the garage, Toby decided he should cut Stabler some slack. He had a right to be pissed. If someone had interfered with his case, assigning himself as his temporary partner, he would have been furious. Besides, he was starting to wonder if some of his antagonism toward Elliot was based in jealousy. He had always envied the working relationship Stabler and Rosetti had shared. Was his antagonism just another bit of his past that he hadn't really put to rest? It was more than time to let it go. He and Elliot were on the same side. 

With those thoughts in mind, Toby took a deep breath and said conversationally, "So, how's your wife? Kathy, right?" 

Elliot's reaction was immediate. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles growing white. "That's none of your goddamn business," he snarled. 

Toby's eyes widened. "Jesus, forgive a guy for making conversation." He looked toward Stabler to see if the other man might apologize for his outburst, but all he got was silence. Well that was just fine. If Elliot wanted to be the universe's biggest prick, he'd be happy to match him insult for insult. 

With a sigh, Beecher leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. As they drew closer to their destination, his annoyance over Elliot's behavior was forgotten. Toby's mind narrowed to focus on one person, Melissa Dougherty, who was the most recent addition to his list of people he had failed. If he had done his job right all those years ago, she'd still be alive. He hadn't been able to prevent her death, but he could make her a promise: I'll find him. 

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

  
Cold. Harsh. Unforgiving. Impotent. Toby had to wonder if other people thought of rooms in terms of character traits. He couldn't help it. The bright white walls, fluorescent lighting, and antiseptic stench that assaulted him as he and Elliot crossed the threshold into the autopsy room hit him like a sucker punch. Sure, he'd been in the room or others like it more times than he could count, but it was the same every time. He didn't know if it was the stark light, the trays of instruments needed to perform their own violation on the victim, or the cold metal slab that made the bile rise in his gut and his head pound. All he knew was that whatever it was time warped him back to the autopsy of that first little girl. 

Mary Beth Warren had haunted him for almost ten years, but it was always worse inside the walls of this room. The shiver of déjà vu brought with it such a sense of guilt and remorse that it took every ounce of control he had not to let the tendrils of regret pull him down once again. He took a few deep steadying breaths and steeled himself against what he knew was coming. This was not a repeat of the past. This was now. And this time - _this time -_ the outcome would be different. This time, he would catch the motherfucker, and finally they all would rest in peace. 

"Beecher, you all right?" Elliot asked. 

Stabler's voice, sounding extremely concerned, pulled Toby out of his head. Damn, he must look as bad as he felt. Shaking his head, he said, "I'm fine. What can you tell us Dr. Rodgers?" 

Stepping up to the metal gurney that held the body of Melissa Dougherty, Dr. Rodgers folded back the sheet that covered the girl. "I'm sorry, but I don't have much to give you. Cause of death appears to be strangulation. Note the ligature marks around the neck, and there are petechial hemorrhages in the eyes." 

"Do we know what she was strangled with?" Elliot asked in a calm and even tone. 

Toby looked over at him wondering how the other detective could look at the body of a little girl and remain unaffected. But when Elliot met his eyes, Toby could see the same hurt, horror and sadness reflected back him. Stabler understood. He had been here before as well. He was just better at hiding it, Toby decided. 

"Undetermined at the moment. From the bruising it appears to be some sort of thin rope, but no fibers were found," Dr. Rodgers said. "In fact it looks like the whole body was wiped clean." 

And now they were at the point where Toby had to ask the question he dreaded. The question that he already knew the answer to, but he hoped that this time he was wrong. "Sexual assault?" he asked, his voice unsteady. 

The Medical Examiner nodded her head "There are indications. No fluids were present. But the hymen was ruptured, and there is vaginal bruising and swelling." 

Toby watched as Elliot's body tensed. His hands were balled into fists, and Toby could feel the anger radiating off the other man. It's got to be really hard for him, Toby thought, having kids around the same age as the victim. He wondered how in the world Elliot could go home and just be a Dad after spending the day investigating the murder and rape of a child. But then Toby got his answer. He watched, astonished, as the other man pulled back the fury like he was stopping a horse. The scowl was replaced by a mask of professional indifference. It was abundantly clear that Detective Stabler knew a thing or two about burying his feelings. 

"Doc. Do we have a time of death?" Elliot asked, his tone not showcasing any of his earlier anger. 

"Best estimate is between 8 and 10 p.m., Monday night." 

The ringing of Elliot's phone echoed in the too quiet room. "Stabler. No Liv, you're right, they were bare," Elliot said as he motioned to the doctor that the call would take just a minute. 

Toby tapped his foot on the floor, impatient for Elliot to get off the phone and reveal whatever was so important that Benson would call while they were with the M.E. The call seemed to take forever. 

"Mrs. Dougherty is sure?" Elliot continued. "No, you were right to call, that's just too strange of a coincidence. Thanks." He flipped his phone closed. Turning his attention back to Dr. Rodgers and her report, Elliot asked, "Doc, did you find traces of nail polish remover?" 

"Nail polish remover?" Toby asked perplexed by Elliot's question. 

"Yes. And minute traces of nail polish at the base of the nails. While I indicated it on the report, I had assumed the girl had recently removed her nail polish. Traces weren't found on other areas of the body," Dr. Rodgers said. 

"That was my partner Olivia," Elliot said emphasizing the word partner for Toby's benefit. "Mrs. Dougherty said that her daughter was wearing fluorescent orange nail polish the night she disappeared." 

"Couldn't Melissa have taken it off herself?" Toby asked while he tried to remember if any of the other girls had been wearing nail polish. 

"No, Mrs. Dougherty was adamant. She and her daughter had gotten their nails done that same afternoon. Melissa used to bite her nails, and her mother had made her a deal that if she stopped, she would get her a manicure. Melissa had picked out the color as it matched her dance costume. Her recital was supposed to be tonight," Elliot said as he watched Toby scratch his head. "You got something there, Beecher?" 

"I don't think any of the other victims wore nail polish. I know Mary Beth didn't, and we should confirm the other two, but I'm pretty confident that they weren't wearing any either," Toby said looking at Elliot. "You think it might be significant?" 

"Just seems odd to me that he'd take the time to remove the nail polish. There must be a reason," Elliot said before looking over at the Medical Examiner. "You got anything else for us Doc?" 

"Just this," Dr. Rodgers said, holding up a tiny zip-lock bag with a white pebble in it. "This was found in the cuff of her sock." 

Toby grabbed the edge of the examining table and fought hard to stay upright. 

"Beecher?" Elliot asked concerned. 

"It's him, Stabler. There's your fucking proof right there. It's the same damn guy," Toby said, his voice thick with emotion. 

"It could have just been a pebble from the park," Elliot said obviously not getting the significance of that little rock. 

"No, it's not. We scoured the park looking for rocks just like that in the Warren case. And couldn't find any. We decided that it must have come from where ever the Strangler took the girls." 

"Was the pebble part of the evidence used against Burton?" Elliot asked. 

Toby sniffed and glared at Elliot. "The DA made the case that the pebble came from Randy's aquarium of fish, but those rocks were smaller and painted white. That stone, as I'm sure the lab will verify, is naturally white. But to answer your question, yes, the jury took the DA's word on it." 

It was the Strangler. He knew it. After reading the initial report on Melissa Dougherty, Beecher had been almost a hundred percent sure. But he had entertained a doubt or two, something he would never have admitted to Stabler or Cragen, or even himself. Now, though, as he stared at that white stone, any remaining doubts were erased. The cycle had started again. What he had both expected and feared had begun. Toby felt a purposeful coldness settle over him, calming his ragged emotions. 

_You're not getting away this time._

><><><><><><><><><><><><

**Chapter 3**

He really needed to stop being such an asshole to Beecher. The guy was at least trying to make an uncomfortable situation work. Besides, you didn't have to like someone to work with them. With a sigh, Elliot turned on the sink, pressed the soap dispenser, and then began to wash his hands. 

After he and Beecher had left the medical examiner's, they had spent the rest of the morning following-up on the few leads they possessed. When Elliot's stomach had made a rather loud rumbling noise, Beecher had surprised him by offering to buy lunch, claiming it was the least he could do since he had thrust himself onto Elliot's case. And of course, he had been suspicious. Was he being bought? Beecher had disarmed him with a chuckle and a comment that he hoped Elliot would go for a whole lot more than the cost of a burger and fries. Elliot had laughed, and strangely, for a moment the gloom that perpetually seemed to shroud him had lifted. 

As he reached for a paper towel to dry his hands, Elliot reflected that Beecher was full of surprises. Even his choice of lunch place had thrown him. Beecher had suggested O'Reily's, a pub that was one of Elliot's favorite places. It had a simple menu with good food, a relaxed atmosphere, and a bartender that took no shit, but could toss out a load of blarney. The place had a nice comfortable feel to it. He just hadn't expected it to be a place Beecher would like. He would have pegged him for going to one of those places where politicians launched their campaigns and businessmen argued politics. 

Elliot had to admit that there were moments when the guy was actually almost likeable. He just wished he could be absolutely sure that Beecher was at least a competent detective. Elliot remembered Dave telling him that Beecher had been brilliant and dedicated, but that in the end, maybe he had just been too high strung to deal with the pressure. So much talent, so much potential, and he had tossed it away in a liquor bottle. 

This morning's visit to the ME had started Elliot pondering Beecher's current emotional stability. He had sworn that several times the guy was going to fall apart. Beecher's emotions seemed far too close to the surface, as if he barely had control over them. It disturbed Elliot. The last thing he needed was to be working a case with someone on the verge of a breakdown. Well there wasn't a hell of a lot he could do about that. With a sigh, Elliot left the bathroom. 

He squeezed his way past the patrons hanging out at the bar and turned the corner heading toward the table where he had left Beecher. Elliot located their table and stopped, stunned, as he watched the waitress deliver a dark, froth covered beverage in an iced mug. Dave's voice echoed in his head.

_"We'd be working a case, and he'd just disappear. At first I couldn't find him anywhere, until I started looking in the bars. Christ, I'd be interviewing a potential witness, and he'd just wander off. I had to fix more of that bastard's screw-ups than I can count."_

Son of a bitch. 

Furious, Elliot quickly made his way to their table. In his haste, he almost bumped into the waitress that had dropped off Beecher's drink. He swerved around her, placed his hands on the table, and glared down at the man who unfortunately was his current partner. "Get this straight Beecher. I don't care who you are, or what connections you have. I am not working this case with you if you're drinking on the job." 

For a second, Beecher look shocked, but then he smiled that maniac smile that made Elliot's stomach twist, the one that seemed to fuel every rumor that the man was indeed crazy. 

"So you came to this decision in the bathroom?" Toby ran his finger along the side of his frosted glass and nodded. "I can go along with that. No drinking." He raised his glass as if to toast, and then took a long drink. When he put the glass down, he licked the froth off of his lips. 

It took all of Elliot's self control to refrain from grabbing Beecher's shirt and slamming him into the booth. "You think I'm bluffing? I'm calling Cragen." 

"Before you do that, there's something you should know," Toby said. 

"I know enough, Beecher. I know all about you. Dave told me. How you'd come to work drunk and keep a flask in your suit pocket for those times when you needed a little more relief. How he covered for you and begged you to get help. And you just kept drinking." 

Toby shrugged, and his smile shrunk to a small quirk of his lips. "Well that's all true, but that's not what I was going to say." 

"What then? Beer's not really alcohol. That's crap and you know it." Elliot shook his head. The guy was unbelievable. 

"Stabler," Toby said in a firm tone. 

"What?" Elliot spoke loud enough that customers seated at the bar turned to stare. 

"It's root beer." 

"What?" Elliot repeated, his voice much quieter this time. 

"Root. Beer." Beecher slid his mug toward Elliot. "By all means take a sip if you don't believe me." 

"Root beer?" 

"Yep. What can I tell you? I never liked coca-cola," Toby said. 

"Root beer." Elliot slid into the booth and put his head in his hands. So much for not being such an asshole to Beecher. Damn. He raised his head, looked Beecher in the eye and said, "Sorry." 

"Not a problem. I am painfully aware that my reputation precedes me. But for the record, I've been clean and sober for over five years." 

"Again, I'm sorry." Elliot struggled to find something more to say, something that wouldn't sound lame. He failed. 

Neither man spoke, and the silence grew awkward. When the waitress arrived to take their orders, both detectives seemed grateful for the respite. They each ordered burgers and fries, and Elliot got a coke. 

Elliot waited until the waitress left before he looked at Beecher and said, "Not that this is an excuse, but it's been a rough week. And I guess I've been a little more on edge than normal. I didn't mean to take it out on you." 

Toby nodded. "I get that. The Bellow case still weighing on your mind? That was a tough one to lose. The jury should have come back with a conviction." 

"You heard about that?" Elliot asked. 

"A young girl tests positive for gonorrhea, as does her grandfather who's accused of molesting her, and they just let him walk. Yeah, I heard about it." Toby shook his head in disgust. 

"Sometimes I wonder why we bother. We collar the bad guys, haul them off the streets, and they just let them back out again. It's all so damn screwed up." Elliot clenched his jaw trying to contain the anger that was fighting for release. 

"We do it because someone has to. And if we did nothing, things would be even worse," Toby said. "We have to win some of the time, don't we?" 

"I don't know anymore," Elliot said. He could see a familiar weariness in Beecher's eyes. He saw that look every morning in the mirror. However, Beecher also seemed to possess a sort of desperate hopefulness. A desire to believe that it would all work out, maybe just this once. Elliot wasn't sure what hope felt like anymore. When he thought about hope, he saw Leslie clutching her white teddy bear pleading with him to reassure her that she would be all right, that her nightmare was over. What good was hope when you couldn't even keep a child safe? Damn it, he couldn't think about this now. He had a job to do. 

"What made you stop drinking?" Elliot asked, purposefully changing the topic of conversation. 

Toby leaned back into the booth. "It wasn't doing its job anymore." 

"Its job?" 

"Yeah, I could no longer drown the guilt in the bottom of a Jack Daniels bottle." 

"Guilt?" Elliot asked. 

Toby stared at his glass. "Randy Burton is dead because of me. Who knows how many other little girls are dead because I was too arrogant and too proud to see my mistake until it was too late." 

"You can't think that way. It will eat you up inside." Elliot meant what he said, and yet the words sounded a bit hollow. Sometimes no matter what you did, no matter how you tried to think, it still ate you up inside. Beecher met his gaze, and Elliot could tell that he understood that truth. Some things you just had to live with. 

"It was eating me up, and the only thing that numbed the pain was booze," Toby said. He turned slightly and looked out the window. "But then one day, I was driving back from my parents place in Connecticut, and this little girl was riding her bike. She looked like she was maybe the same age as Melissa and Mary Beth." Toby closed his eyes and clenched his hands. "I didn't see the stop sign. I was too drunk to see it." 

Beecher stopped talking, and Elliot waited patiently for him to continue. 

After a minute, Toby opened his eyes and took a sip of his drink. He looked at Elliot before continuing. "And then she was in front of me. I swerved and missed her, but I came very close to plowing right into her. I ended up in a ditch instead." 

"You were lucky," Elliot said. 

"Very lucky. It was a slap of reality. Here I was wallowing in my guilt over the deaths of those little girls and Randy, and I almost took a life myself. I checked myself into rehab and have been sober ever since." Toby ran his fingers down the side of the chilly mug. 

"I'm sorry I made you bring up something painful," Elliot said. He hadn't expected Beecher to share something so personal with him. 

Toby waved his hand dismissively. "No, it's good to talk about it. It keeps it real for me." 

The waitress arrived with their food, and a comfortable silence fell over the table as both men focused on their lunch. More than half way through their meal, Toby's cell phone rang, and he answered it.  
  
"Hey Angus. What? No kidding. Congratulations. It's about time. You tell Mother and Dad yet? Oh, I bet. Julie does realize that Mother is going to be over there constantly now. Ok, ok. Yes, Angus, I'll be over this weekend. Congratulations again, little brother. Give Jules a kiss for me. Bye." Toby closed the phone and said to Elliot, "Sorry about that." A huge smile graced his face. "I'm going to be an uncle." 

"Not a problem. Congratulations," Elliot said, thinking Beecher should smile like that more often. It suited him much better than that maniac's grin. 

"Thanks." Toby laughed and winked at Elliot. "I really didn't have anything to do with it." His smile faded, and he softly muttered, "Angus comes through again." 

"What was that?" 

Toby shook his head. "I was just talking to myself. My parents are ecstatic to finally have a grandchild on the way." 

Elliot ate a fry, and then asked, "So, you don't have any kids?" 

"No. I'm an old fashioned kind of guy. I think one should have a wife before he has kids," Toby said. 

"Weren't you engaged to a Jennifer or something?" 

"Yes, I was. Her name was Genevieve. Thank you for bringing up *that* painful memory," Toby said with a roll of the eyes. 

Damn it, Elliot thought, shouldn't he be able to have a conversation with Beecher that wasn't marked by accusations and painful memories? "Sorry, I didn't know." 

"I'm just fucking with you Stabler," Toby said and grinned. "It was a long time ago, and it was for the best." 

"So you broke it off?" Elliot asked. If his memory served him right, Genevieve had been quite attractive and had seemed nice enough. Still, he had only met her once or twice. Not really enough to judge. 

"No, she did. She got sick of playing second fiddle to a serial killer, and I can't say that I blame her." Toby smiled ruefully. "Not to mention my drinking." 

"I'm sorry I brought it up," Elliot said. 

"No need." Toby looked at his watch and shook his head. "Damn, look at that." 

"What?" Elliot asked, his lips curving in a frown. 

"It's been over 20 minutes since you've insulted me Stabler. That's got to be some kind of record." 

Elliot chuckled. "Cute, Beecher. Cute." 

"Thanks," Toby said. He pushed his plate out of his way and loosely crossed his arms over his chest. "So how about you? How have you managed to do the impossible - be on the job and raise a family too? You've been married what? Nearly 20 years, right? Now *that's* something to celebrate." 

"My family's off limits," Elliot said, his good mood evaporating. 

Toby looked shocked. He dropped his arms from his chest and sat up a little straighter. "Ok. So, you're allowed to delve into my personal life, listen to me air all my dirty laundry, and I'm not allowed to say dick about your family." 

"Correct," Elliot said. 

"I take it the truce is over then. What is your problem Stabler? All I said is you're lucky that you've had someone to come home to for all these years. What was wrong with that?" 

"None of your business," Elliot said, the words slipping out past his tightened jaw. 

"Ooh, I've touched a nerve," Toby said with a smirk. "Cheating on the wife there, Elliot. If so, I'm shocked. Wouldn't think an uptight prick like you had it in him." 

Elliot's hand shot out across the table, and he grabbed Beecher's arm. "Not. Another. Word. Beecher." 

"Fine," Toby said yanking his arm out of Elliot's grasp. "I don't want to fight with you. I apologize for the crack about you cheating on your wife. It was uncalled for. I'm going to the john. See if you can flag the waitress for the bill." He quickly walked away from the table. 

Christ, why the hell had he behaved like that? Elliot dropped his head to his hands. If he had just politely said that he'd rather not talk about his family right now, Beecher would have dropped the subject. But, no, he had been antagonistic instead. What was wrong with him, and why was he making Beecher the focus for all the anger roiling around inside him? Was Beecher just an easy target, or was he losing control over his emotions? He had already lost control of his life, if he lost control over himself, where the hell would he be then? This train of thought was pointless. He had one argument that got out of control. It wasn't the end of the world. He'd apologize, and they'd get back to work. That was all there was to it. 

The waitress came by to clear their plates. She placed the check on the table, and Elliot decided that lunch should be on him. Beecher returned to their table just as the waitress was picking up the check and money. 

"Jesus Christ. You couldn't even let me pick up the goddamn tab," Toby said as he sat back down. 

Elliot shrugged. "I figured I'd get it this time. Least I could do for yelling at you." 

"You do realize Stabler, if you feel obligated to buy every time you yell at me, you'll be bankrupt within the week," Toby said with a smile. 

It amazed Elliot how quickly Beecher let go of his anger. He was pretty darn sure that if the roles were reversed, he wouldn't be making a joke and smiling. His level of guilt went up a notch. "Listen, I'm sorry about overreacting." 

"Hey, I understand. If I had a family, I'd want to protect them from all," Toby waved his hand widely, "*this*. And I really wasn't trying to pry. I just heard you talking to your wife earlier, and I remembered that you'd been married for a long time, and I admire that." 

Good family man, good cop, all a goddamn illusion, Elliot thought as he stared at the table. After a moment, he said, "The phone call wasn't from my wife." 

"Oh," Toby said. 

"It was my daughter Maureen," Elliot said quickly. He didn't want Beecher thinking that his crack about Elliot cheating on his wife had been accurate. 

"Three kids? No four," Toby said. "You had twins right?" 

"That's right." 

"Sorry, I'm crossing into that personal area again." Toby looked contrite. 

Elliot sighed. "It's ok. It's just." 

"Just?" 

He couldn't believe he was going to do this. He hadn't even told Olivia yet. Hell, he hadn't even told Olivia that he was separated, let alone divorced. And here he was considering telling the truth to a man who, until today, he hadn't seen in years. Elliot could see the concern in Beecher's eyes, and for some reason he believed the other detective wouldn't judge him, that he could be trusted. He stared at his left hand, at the gold band gleaming there. He wasn't sure why he felt this need to tell Beecher. Maybe it had something to do with Beecher telling him why he had stopped drinking, or maybe he just needed to tell someone before he exploded. The decision made, Elliot slipped off his ring and placed it on the table. He let out a long exhale. 

"Kathy and I are getting." Elliot paused. "Kathy and I are divorced. It was official this week." 

"Oh man. I'm sorry," Toby said. 

Elliot rolled his ring back and forth on the table. "Maureen, she's the oldest, called to remind me that I need to be at the house at 8:30 am on Friday so we can all go to her graduation as a family. But I think she was just checking to see how I'm doing." 

"She sounds like a good kid," Toby said his voice soft with sympathy. 

"They're all great kids. That's the." Elliot swallowed hard. "Listen, no offense, but I don't want to talk about it, all right?" 

"That's cool. And for what it's worth Elliot, I'm truly sorry," Toby said. He reached across the table placing his hand on Elliot's arm and giving it a brief squeeze before letting go. 

"Thanks. And please don't repeat it. Nobody knows yet," Elliot said. 

Toby nodded. "I won't say a word." 

Elliot took a deep breath, and as he exhaled, he pushed aside the pain and doubt. He had no time for it now. With his emotional distress neatly locked away, Elliot's face resumed its normal cool, almost disdainful, expression. "Come on," he said to Beecher. "We've got work to do." 

As they got up to leave, Elliot slipped his wedding ring into his pocket.  
  
><><><><><><><><><><><><

  
—TBC—

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Clemency](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2476538) by [Maverick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maverick/pseuds/Maverick)
  * [Going Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2476571) by [Maverick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maverick/pseuds/Maverick)
  * [Modus Operandi](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2476607) by [Maverick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maverick/pseuds/Maverick)




End file.
